Harry Potter and the Shaving of the Contaminated
by Kirsti the Spooky Donut
Summary: It's my version of book 5! All I can say is; expect the completely unexpected.
1. Back at the Dursley's

_I was really bored, what can I say? So I decided to do like many others and do my version of book #5! I bet you could just touch yourself with joy! Touching yourself or not, please read and review. Your doing so would make me want to touch myself. There will be lots of twists, turns and very, very unexpected surprises in this story. You have been warned._   
  


* * *

  
  
Harry trudged behind his uncle, up the driveway towards number four Privet drive. The house looked just as it always did when he returned from Hogwarts—and it held the same cold, dark sense of foreboding. As they reached the stoop, he watched a vein in the back of Vernon Dursley's neck pulsate angrily as he fumbled for the correct key to the front door, muttering angrily under his breath.   
  
His uncle had said nothing to him since the moment he picked him up at King's Cross station earlier that day. He had barely even acknowledged his presence. In fact, if he hadn't popped the trunk after climbing back into his car, Harry would have thought the man didn't even know he were present. Harry had loaded his things into the car himself and climbed into the back seat, avoiding the front where his vicious-looking uncle glared out of the windshield.   
  
Inside the house it was dark and cool, as though it had been empty for awhile. Harry gazed around at the familiar furniture and surroundings. The only changes were a few new school pictures of Dudley from his Smeltings school.   
  
"Where is everyone?' Harry asked cautiously, speaking the first words between them.   
  
Vernon shot around to face the boy, his eyes cold.   
  
"_Out_," he said darkly.   
  
"Ah, I see," Harry gazed around again, then began to drag his trunk up the familiar staircase as his uncle disappeared into the kitchen, likely to shove something sticky and fattening in his chubby face. Hedwig's cage dangled from his left hand as he ascended the stairs, the snowy owl looking about frantically, but making no noise.   
  
His room was the same as he'd left it, with the exception of the dust. He wasn't surprised to see that his aunt Petunia didn't bother to keep up the tidying. He set Hedwig's cage on the desk and dropped his trunk at the foot of the bed. He was relieved that Vernon hadn't confiscated all of his things and locked them under the stairs—an act which was fast becoming a tradition. However, just in case he decided to do so, Harry quickly gathered a few books, his quills and parchment from the trunk and hid them beneath the floor under his bed.   
  
He sat on the bed then, sighing. The house felt even colder than usual in it's dark and gloomy state. Even the constant prattling of his spoiled cousin Dudley would have been better than the darkened silence. After what he'd just been through, he wasn't prepared to be thrust into such a cold, dead environment. Hell, he'd even be happy if his uncle would yell at him for something. A noise—any noise, would be welcome.   
  
The moment he'd thought it, a slight tapping came at his window. He spun around and gasped.   
  
A small, shadowy figure was perched outside the glass. At first, Harry thought it was Dobby, but he quickly realized the small creature was far too small to be Dobby. And was there a bluish tint to his flesh? As he stood to get a closer glance, there was a sudden sound of crunching gravel from the driveway below and almost immediately Uncle Vernon's voice bellowed up the stairs.   
  
"Boy! Get down here!"   
  
Harry cast a last, plaintive glance towards the small figure in the window, who was knocking again more persistently, and hurried out of the room, hoping that whatever the creature was, it didn't plan on causing him any trouble with the Dursley's.   
  
Downstairs the lights were now on and aunt Petunia and Dudley were hurrying in the door. Vernon Dursley beamed at them brightly, ushering them inside. Judging by the fact that Dudley was in his Smelting uniform, Harry assumed that Petunia had just picked him up from his own school. The Smelting stick dangled from Dudley's right hand. "And how was school?" Vernon demanded eagerly, tugging Dudley towards the kitchen.   
  
Harry stood by silently as Petunia trotted past him, mumbling something about a freshly baked 'welcome home' cake and wondering why his uncle had called him down at all. None of them seemed to even notice he'd come down the stairs. Sighing, he followed the group into the kitchen.   
  
Aunt Petunia was placing a rather large chocolate cake before her two pudgy men. Dudley looked at it longingly as his father licked his lips.   
  
"You've done so well with your diet," Petunia beamed, "I thought you deserved a little treat!" she brandished a knife and began to cut a wedge from the desert.   
  
Harry snorted inwardly. Done well with his diet? Dudley didn't look a bit thinner than he'd been at the end of last summer.   
  
Petunia quickly placed slabs of cake onto three plates, then began to put the cake away in a plastic box for safe keeping. Harry continued to watch the scene silently from the kitchen doorway, not daring to ask where his slice was. And naturally, none of them offered him a piece.   
  
Despite their behavior, Harry was almost glad to be in the kitchen with the obnoxious trio. Their chattering was distracting enough to keep his thoughts from straying to the events of the previous year. His legs tired from his busy day, he lowered himself onto the kitchen floor and sighed as he listened to the familiar chatter and tinkling of forks on plates. 


	2. Warnings from Papa Smurf

Harry didn't even realize he'd dozed off until he felt a swift kick in his side.   
  
"What are you doing, boy?" Vernon demanded angrily.   
  
Harry, stunned by the sharp pain, gripped his injured side and stared up at his uncle, startled and speechless.   
  
"Answer me when I speak to you!"   
  
"I—I—"   
  
Vernon threw his hand sin the air in a gesture of exasperation and stormed back towards the table, leaving Harry where he'd been found; leaning against the kitchen wall near the icebox. Dudley was sniggering with glee, always happy to see Harry in trouble.   
  
Sighing, Harry stood and excused himself—a gesture which was ignored by his relatives completely. He trudged up the stairs and flopped down onto his bed. Hedwig hooted in greeting, resting on the top of her cage sleepily.   
  
"I don't know what to do now," he muttered more to himself than his owl companion. "I just don't know what to do with myself. Why couldn't Dumbledore have let me o go the Weasley's? It's so dull and boring here, I fear I'll go—"   
  
His vocalized thought process was interrupted by a familiar noise at the window. Sitting up and facing the glass, he saw the dimly lit shape of the small creature once again, nearly completely hidden in the darkness of night outside. A shadowy fist reached up and knocked quite loudly, rattling the glass fiercely. Harry winced, hoping that his uncle wouldn't hear the racket and come storming angrily up the stairs.   
  
He stood and hurried to the window, thrusting it open. Without the glass in between them, he could see the creature plainly now. It was less than a foot tall, bright blue and wearing a strange, red cap on it's blue head. A thick, bushy white beard graced his chin and his eyes were staring at Harry frantically.   
  
"Who are you?" Harry demanded, amazed suddenly by his ability to attract bizarre creatures and people at the most inconvenient times. In the hallway outside of his room, he could hear Dudley fussing about his bed time and aunt Petunia trying to coax him into his room with the promise of doughnuts for breakfast.   
  
"They call me Papa Smurf," the creature said, stepping inside and standing on the sill, gazing up at Harry. "I have come bearing the direst of warnings—"   
  
"Of course!" Harry threw up his hands in sarcastic exasperation. "The direst of warnings! I should have guessed!"   
  
Papa Smurf glared at the him, his eyes narrowing beneath his red cap. "I am serious. You are in immense danger, Mr. Harry Potter."   
  
"Yeah, I already knew that."   
  
Papa Smurf ignored him, "there is an evil, evil man coming to Hogwarts..."   
  
"He's already there—has been awhile—his name's Snape—"   
  
"Enough!" the angry, elderly Smurf tore off his cap and hurled it at Harry, who hopped backwards to dodge it. "If you will not take me seriously, how will I help you?" he pleaded.   
  
"Sorry," Harry muttered, sighing and sitting back on his bed.   
  
Papa Smurf hopped off the sill and scampered across the floor, picking up his cap and placing it back on his head carefully. He then used the edge of Harry's blanket to climb onto the bed and sit beside him.   
  
"You are in immense danger," he began again.   
  
"Oh, honestly, can't you say anything else?"   
  
"But—"   
  
Frustrated, tired and annoyed, Harry grabbed the Smurf by his white beard and began swinging him over his head wildly. The small creature squealed and yelled as he let go and he was tossed out the open window into the dark night air. There was a faint thud of Smurf-on-pavement in the distance. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. 


	3. If Looks Could Kill

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far! As you can probably tell, it's not your average Harry Potter fan fiction. ;o)_   
  


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Harry realized all too quickly that he should not have feared boredom. The weeks after he returned to four Privet drive were filled by a list of chores and his aunt and uncle had likely spent the bulk of the Winter comprising. He stood in the driveway and stared at the list, trying to feel grateful for it. As long as the chores kept him busy, they couldn't pick on him as much. His eyes drifted from the list, to the car he was supposed to begin washing and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure.   
  
"And make it shine!" he heard his uncle shout from inside, more than likely watching him from behind the curtain-covered window.   
  
"_And make it shine!_" Harry muttered in a whiny, sarcastic tone. He knelt and picked up a bucket of soapy water by the wire handle, then tossed the liquid across the side of the vehicle. It streamed down, soap bubbles oozing and shimmering in the hot summer sun.   
  
Almost as much as wishing he were at the Weasley's, Harry wished he could use his magic outside of school. He watched as the suds dripped from the car onto the gravel drive, contemplating how amusing it would be to somehow charm the car into the Dursley's living room. Perhaps they would be civil to him then. Or, perhaps they would throw him out for good. He was rather certain that the Weasley's would take him in. _Someone_ would take him—that he was sure off. He was _Harry Potter_ after all, and he doubted the Ministry would let him roam the streets homeless. That was one fortunate thing about being "famous".   
  
"Stop that staring off into space!" Vernon Dursley bellowed from the stoop.   
  
Harry turned to see him standing with his hands on his bloated hips, sneering bitterly. He muttered an apology that he was sure his uncle hadn't heard and quickly began scrubbing the side of the car with a worn cloth. "I've got company coming for dinner tonight," Vernon said, his voice still raise, but lowered enough so that his berating wouldn't be overheard by the neighbors. "You know the routine. After you work, you disappear. Got it? You don't live here."   
  
"Got it," Harry muttered.   
  
"What was that?" Vernon snapped.   
  
"I got it!" Harry shouted, purposely hoping to attract neighborly attention. Vernon winced at his volume, but said nothing. Instead he turned and vanished into the house once again, slamming the door behind him.   
  
The Dursley's spent the rest of the day in their usual "company preparation mode'. Harry was bellowed at constantly as he ran about, doing the bulk of the housework while Dudley sat in whatever room he occupied, amusing himself by watching Harry slave over the cleaning. Aunt Petunia was busy in the kitchen, preparing the evenings meal, while Vernon Dursley sat at the table, reading a stack of papers whose contents were unknown to Harry.   
  
"This is very important," Vernon was telling Harry moments before his guests arrived. "You are to behave yourself! If I hear one word from up there—just one word, I'll kill you myself and bury you in the basement."   
  
Harry nodded his acquiescence while silently thinking that if his uncle did attempt to kill him, he would certainly use magic to prevent it. Expulsion was a small price to pay for not spending eternity buried in the Dursley's basement.   
  
Once he'd sufficiently threatened Harry, Vernon went back to studying his papers.   
  
"Do you think you will get this deal, darling?' Petunia asked, peeking over his shoulder.   
  
As they busied themselves discussing the fancy new homes they would be buying by the sea, Harry tiptoed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, eager to begin his hiding. Any excuse to be away from the Dursley's was welcome. And he felt confident that for a few hours at least, they wouldn't bother with him as long as he was quiet. He could study and possibly catch up on a little homework.   
  
Downstairs the doorbell rang and the sounds of the twittering Dursley's could be heard, cheerfully fake. Harry removed his books from their hiding place and attempted to study.   
  
He had only been studying for half an hour or so when a loud, chipper voice came floating up the stairs.   
  
"Come now, Vernon! Just one more glass!"   
  
Harry, who sat on his bed, raised his eyebrows over the edge of his book and glanced at his closed bedroom door. Cheerful, nearly drunken laughter could be heard downstairs, muffling slightly Vernon Dursley's attempt to reject the suggestion of another drink.   
  
Curious, Harry hopped off his bed and crept to the door, inching it open slightly.   
  
"Well, one more wouldn't hurt, 'spose," Vernon said, sounding as though he'd already had one too many.   
  
"What a _git_," Harry whispered aloud, listening as Petunia giggled shrilly at something which one of the guests had said. He shut the door gently and went back to his studying.   
  
It was a loud crash an hour later that next interrupted Harry's attempt at doing his homework. He dropped the book into his lap and stared at the door. There was another loud noise which sounded strikingly like someone running into a solid object then falling over it. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry once again abandoned his homework and peered out the bedroom door.   
  
From his post at the top of the stairs, he saw a strange man pass before the stairs quickly, heading towards the kitchen.   
  
"I reckon you've had enough," he said, no longer sounding cheerful. In fact, the man sounded downright dismayed.   
  
"Nonsense!" Vernon bellowed drunkenly. There was a sudden sound of glass breaking and liquid splashing in the kitchen, indicating that the man had just dropped either a glass or bottle of wine.   
  
"Oh, Vernon!" Petunia cried, sounding distraught.   
  
There was another crash and a woman screamed. Unable to resist, Harry pattered down the stairs in his stocking feet and skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway.   
  
"Oh, wow," he whispered, his mouth agape.   
  
He took a step into the kitchen, barely able to believe his eyes as uncle Vernon's fancy dinner jacket was flung through the air over his head by his uncle, who was standing on the kitchen table. The man did a sort of twirl, then resumed facing his dinner guests, who had all left their chairs and were huddled against the far wall, watching in horror. Dudley had his hand pressed over his eyes, his mouth twisted in shame.   
  
"Check out these moves, ladies," Vernon drawled, shaking his chubby hips which jiggled noisily on his body. He began to unbutton his shirt, but his fingers couldn't work the buttons in his intoxicated state. Giving up, he grasped each side firmly and tore it open, sending small, white buttons pinging off the walls. Harry ducked to avoid a button, then met the eyes of the Dursley's guests. By their expression, he could tell they were torn between being horrified by Vernon's behavior and confused by the appearance of the strange, dark-haired boy.   
  
"Vernon!" Petunia cried as he bent over and shook his backside at the group of horrified people. He righted himself and began to unbutton his pants.   
  
"Get him off there!" the man said, making no moves to remove Vernon from the table.   
  
"Dad?" Dudley removed his hands from his eyes and stared at his father who was attempting to remove his belt, the only object holding on his undone trousers.   
  
Petunia inched towards the table hesitantly as Vernon became engrossed in the task of removing his belt, which was obviously quite difficult for a man in his state. He couldn't merely tear it off, as he did his shirt (which was still hanging by one sleeve on his right arm.) His mouth hung open slightly, emitting a small stream of drool down his chin as he concentrated on the buckle.   
  
Following his aunt's example, Harry stepped forward as she reached up in an attempt to lead him down from the table. Inwardly, he was laughing madly at the scene, but outwardly he plastered an expression of seriousness on his face, biting the inside of his lower lip to prevent himself from giggling. He reached out and grasped Vernon's left elbow as Petunia grasped the right, and together the tried to lead him towards the table edge.   
  
"Come now, Vernon," Petunia coaxed delicately.   
  
"Aww, Petunia, I'm just getting warmed up," he slurred, leering at her goofily as he stumbled off the table.   
  
Once his uncle was planted firmly on the kitchen floor, Harry let go and took a nervous step backwards. He lifted his eyes from his aunt and uncle to the far wall again and found the dinner guests gazing at him curiously. For the first time, he got a good look at them; they were tall and slender, both with dark brown hair and slender faces to match their figures. One was a man, who was only an inch or two taller than his female companion. They stared at him with uncertainly, their eyes occasionally glancing quickly at Vernon, who had begun to hum tunelessly.   
  
"Who are you?' the man finally asked.   
  
As if sobering suddenly, Vernon's head shot around to stare at his guests. His drunken smile faded as he seemed to sober slightly, realizing exactly just what he had done. He took a step towards them but stumbled and stopped again. He peered around the kitchen quickly, looking startlingly like a trapped rabbit. Then his eyes fell on Harry, who had inched back into the kitchen doorway.   
  
"**YOU!**" Vernon bellowed, the vein in his neck throbbing ominously. 


	4. Escape from the Dursley’s

A/N: Sorry about the lack of updates; I tried writing while away for the holiday, but due to my eleven year old nephew's constant reading over my shoulder, I found it impossible. The story is going to get very strange in the future (what, it wasn't already?). If you're not into the extremely bizarre, don't continue reading.   
  
I hope everyone had a nice holiday!   
  


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Harry took an instinctive step back as his uncle loomed over him. However, as Vernon took a step forward, he stumbled in his still-drunken state, and nearly crashed into the stove as he lost his balance. Harry cringed as the man caught himself and continued to stumble towards him, his guests looking on in bewildered confusion.   
  
"This is all yer doin'!" Vernon slurred, making a wild grab for Harry, who had just then turned and tore up the stairs.   
  
"Get back here!" Vernon screamed, making a pathetic attempt to follow him up the stairs, stumbling and swaying back and forth with each uneasy step upward.   
  
Harry reached the top quickly, turned, and dashed into his bedroom. He grabbed the chair from his desk and used it to bar the door, then began to hurriedly collect his things. Just in case, he thought. There was no way he was going to get caught in his uncle's wrath and lose his Hogwarts things.   
  
"Yer out of here!" Vernon slurred, reaching the door, but not stopping soon enough. He his the wood with a loud 'smack', and swore loudly—at the door, or him, Harry wasn't quite sure. A stream of vulgar words streamed through the barricade.   
  
He lifted the loose boards beneath his bed and collected his books, quills and homework, shoving them into his trunk noisily. As he slammed it shut, there was a loud, sudden 'CRACK'.   
  
The door splintered from the force of a sudden blow which Vernon Dursley had inflicted. Stray shards of wood flew in all directions, clattering off the walls and causing Harry to duck in order to avoid being pierced. The chair which had held the door was now in pieces at his uncle's feet.   
  
"I've had it with you, boy! How could yer embarrass--magic in this house--you rotten little--!" Vernon bellowed, his face reddening even worse than it had been earlier. A small trickle of drool still ran down his chin and his eyes were wild not only with rage, but with panic.   
  
Harry realized suddenly that his uncle's rage wasn't simply caused by his curious wandering into the kitchen; he intended to blame him for his drunken behavior. Obviously he failed to realize that this display would basically out him as a wizard, undoing what Vernon has spent fourteen years trying to do; hide his magical background.   
  
Harry clutched his trunk and pondered how he could manage past his uncle. It wouldn't be too difficult--the man was flaming drunk and not very quick, even when sober. Vernon stumbled forward slightly and reached out to make a grab for him, despite his being entirely across the room.   
  
"C'mere!" Vernon slurred.   
  
Harry hesitated for a moment, then moved slowly, cautiously forward a step.   
  
"O-out!" Vernon said, a small hiccup stuttering his words slightly. He pointed a chubby, pink finger at the now-open doorway and stood to the side.   
  
Harry glanced at his out-stretched finger, noting briefly how it resembled a raw, peeled sausage, then back at his uncle whose face was screwed up in intense anger. At his hesitation, Vernon wagged his finger at the doorway, but was unable to manage another sentence; only a faint, strangled noise emitted from his mouth.   
  
"Er," Harry grasped the occupied cage of Hedwig quickly under his arm, causing the owl to squawk nervously. He then tugged his trunk quickly behind him and hurried past Vernon into the landing. With very little hesitation, he turned and began trotting down the steps, his trunk banging noisily behind him, Hedwig raising a fuss in her cage, beating her wings angrily.   
  
He'd nearly forgotten about the company and as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw them. They were standing in the living room, now looking simply put out, expressions of disgust on their faces. They both looked up at Harry as he banged into the sitting room and froze. Hedwig still thrashed about her cage, shrieking in displeasure. Harry saw their eyes flicker from the upset owl, to him, to his trunk, then back to him.   
  
"What the devil--"   
  
"Er, sorry to intrude," Harry said. Anger flushed him suddenly as he realized he was leaving Privet drive forever--where, he wasn't sure, but he knew, deep in his heart, that he wouldn't return. His mind flashed back briefly over his last fourteen years and how miserable Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had made him.   
  
He planted a faint, embarrassed smile on his lips.   
  
"Not meaning to be a bother," he walked towards them, on his way to the door and they parted to let him pass. "You see, my uncle," he nodded at the large man who was just then stumbling down the stairs, wheezing and gasping for air, "is a bit upset. He wants to blame the fact that he can't hold his liquor on my being a wizard--like I would actually want to see such a display enough to magic him into doing it--"   
  
Petunia shrieked, dropping something glass and very breakable nearby, which exploded and sent shimmering pieces across the carpet.   
  
Harry, noting the ominous way Vernon seemed to swell from the corner of his eye, hurried past the guests, whose mouths now hung agape, and flung open the front door. The screen banged noisily against his trunk as he lofted it out, then stumbled over it, dodging away from one of Vernon's chubby hands.   
  
His uncle, however, didn't follow him out onto the stoop. Red faced and glaring, Vernon Dursley stared at him a moment. Then without a word, he slammed the door shut. Harry stood alone then, basked suddenly in the cool, quiet of night and feeling as though he'd just been released from prison. He turned around to face the quiet Privet drive, a massive grin spreading across his face. He had no idea where he was going, but it certainly wasn't back into that house.   
  
Behind him, inside, he could hear muffled voices; the Dursley's likely trying to explain away that night's events. His heart lightened as he thought of how he was to never set foot in that living room again. He would never be tormented by Dudley, belittled by his uncle, shunned or screamed at by his aunt... The voices moved then, away and towards the kitchen.   
  
Harry righted Hedwig and grasped her cage properly from the hook at the top, then set her down on top of his trunk. He had no reason to hide his magical background now, and was perfectly delighted by the idea of outing himself before all of the Dursley's neighbors. He opened his trunk, removed his Hogwarts school robes, and quickly donned them over his clothing. He then placed his wizard's cap on his head of messy black hair and grinned even broader than before.   
  
It was then that he suddenly wondered what exactly he would do with himself. He could call the Knight Bus, but then he would have to deal with it's obnoxious employees. He also had a small stash of Floo powder in the pocket of his robes ("just in case of an emergency!" Molly Weasley had said last summer, as she gave him the small supply). He reached his hand into the depths of his pocket and felt the small pouch which contained the powder. Traveling by fire wasn't Harry's idea of a grand time, but at the moment it seemed more appealing than Stan and his Knight Bus.   
  
Before he could ponder where he might find a fireplace which was hooked up to the wizaridng network, a shadowy figure came wandering down the road. Harry held his breath as the figure strode under a nearby street lamp and became suddenly familiar. A middle-aged man stared at Harry--who must have been quite a sight in his robes, holding an owl, a trunk at his side--moonlight was glinting off his balding head. In his hands was a leash, attached to a rather scraggly looking dog who seemed very bored. He recognized the man immediately as one of the Dursley's nosiest of neighbors.   
  
"Harry? What are you doing outside... and dressed like that?"   
  
He was pretending to be concerned, but Harry could detect the gleeful glint of gossip waiting to be told, forming in his eyes.   
  
"Well," Harry shrugged nonchalantly, casting a bored look back at the Dursley house, which was now relatively quiet inside. "You see, my uncle has kicked me out. He's tired of having a wizard under his roof--"   
  
"A what?" the man said, his eyes wide with evident shock.   
  
"Yeah, I'm a wizard. Pissed my uncle Vernon off quite a bit when he found out. So, now he's gone and gotten himself drunk beyond words and kicked me out." Harry shrugged again. He lifted the handle of his trunk and began to tug it down the few stairs of the stoop. It thudded noisily as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He paused, staring at the bald man who was still staring at him. He was tempted to work some sort of magic to prove his magical abilities, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble with the ministry for such a petty thing.   
  
He gave the man a last smile, then began tugging his trunk down the driveway towards the street. At the curb, he paused, realizing with a start that there was a way he could use magic legally. He quickly tugged his wand from inside his robes and held it out. A small light illuminated and within a second there was a loud crack and the Knight Bus appeared before him.   
  
There was a strangled shriek somewhere behind the bus and within a few seconds Harry saw the man fleeing down the street, his dog trailing him at a distance, the dropped leash dragging behind it on the pavement.   
  
Grinning, Harry climbed aboard and nodded at Stan.   
  
"Neville!" Stan cried, then paused, "er, Harry."   
  
Harry began digging about in his pockets for his gold, suddenly realizing that he liked didn't have much wizard money on hand.   
  
"How much to get to The Burrow?" Harry asked, still digging.   
  
"Five knuts," Stan said, grasping Harry's trunk and pulling it deeper into the bus. The driver, Earl, looked disinterestedly at them, then resumed staring out the windshield.   
  
"You summoned the Knight Bus in front of a muggle?" he said, his voice soft and nonchalant.   
  
"Er—"   
  
"Don't worry, Harry, muggles can't see the bus. All they see is an explosion of sparks and a loud bang. Earl's just given' ya a hard time."   
  
"I don't think I have enough," Harry pulled out his hand which contained two knuts and a small pile of sickles. "Where will this get me?"   
  
Stan looked into his palm, screwed up his face, then smiled at Harry. "Dunno. Really shouldn't get you anywhere. But we can get you as far as London. Yer 'Harry Potter' after all!"   
  
Harry handed the coins to Stan, then quickly sat himself on the nearest bed. London would be fine; he could find the nearest fireplace in Diagon alley and be at the Weasley's in no time. 


End file.
